Effort Not Wasted
by Marzarelo
Summary: Ratchet works his aft off to keep the Autobot army in good working order. Sometimes it seems like a thankless job, but all of his hard work doesn't go unnoticed. Wheeljack appreciates the medic's efforts, and wants to show his graditude.


DISCLAIMER!

I don't own transformers, they belong to Hasbro/Takara. Yadda, yadda, yadda, don't sue me.

This is my first SERIOUS attempt at fanfiction. (Doesn't seem like that epically stupid crack-stuff I wrote with a couple friends like 8 years ago should count.) Anyway, it's slashy robot-sex, so if that's not your thing, no one's making you read this. If it IS your thing, then by all means carry on, and I hope you enjoy. ^_^

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Ratchet cursed.

He'd had a busy day already. No major repairs, but he'd had to deal with the aftermath of an accident on the training range involving the dinobots. He hadn't gotten the details, and he really didn't care, but apparently it had something to do with a stubborn disagreement which had escalated when Grimlock punched Ironhide. The old bodyguard's thick armor spared him any serious damage, but not being one to back down, he just HAD to hit back. From there it had only gotten worse as others got involved, either defending one or the other, or trying to break it up. Fists flew, someone threw a boulder... the specifics were all very convoluted, but it didn't really matter. The result was that half of the base had been through the med bay that day, and Ratchet was completely exhausted. He'd managed to patch everyone up, though, and he was seriously looking forward to relaxing with a cube of high-grade.

And then Wheeljack showed up.

The engineer had been working on one of his inventions when its main power source had malfunctioned, and it had put out an electrical surge so strong that it had shorted out every circuit in Wheeljack's right arm, which now hung limp at his side. Repairing circuitry was tedious work. Ratchet was so angry he could scream, and he had half a mind to throw the inventor out. He couldn't, though. No matter how frustrated and overworked he may have been, he'd never been able to turn a patient away. Even if they HAD brought the injury on themselves. At least Wheeljack had the courtesy to look ashamed and apologize profusely, but it did little to improve the medic's mood.

Ratchet had practically shoved the inventor onto his work table. Wheeljack cringed slightly at every curse Ratchet threw at him, but the medic continued, heedless of the smaller mech's reactions. In his frustration, he pried the armor open on the inventor's arm a bit too forcefully. Wheeljack yelped slightly in pain, and only then did the medic pause. He looked to his patient's face to see it lined in pain, his optics firmly shuttered and offline. Suddenly Ratchet felt some of his frustration ebb away, replaced with guilt. He didn't apologize, since it was the inventor's fault he was injured to begin with and he was still angry with him, but he did take care to be more gentle and he deadened the pain receptors connected to his patient's arm.

It was long and tedious work and Ratchet grumbled through most of it, though most of the anger had drained out of his words. Once the pain receptors had been disconnected, Wheeljack had managed to relax somewhat. He made several more attempts to apologize, all of which were cut off by a sharp word or gesture from the medic. After a couple of hours, all of the circuitry and wiring in the inventor's arm was replaced, and Ratchet snapped the armor back in place with a satisfying click. "There. Good as new. Now get the frag out of here."

Wheeljack sat up on the work table and flexed his newly repaired arm. "Thank you so much, Ratchet. I really appreciate this. I know you were already really tired and-"

"Save it." Ratchet muttered, waving away yet another oncoming apology as he would an annoying insect, but something caught his wrist, effectively stopping him mid-wave. He turned to see dark gray fingers encircling his wrist in a loose grip, and sincere blue optics staring into his own.

"I mean it, Ratch. I really didn't want to bother you. I really do appreciate you fixing me up. Not just this time, either. I can't even count how many times you've fixed me, and I just- ... I just want you to know how much I really appreciate it. I don't know what I'd do without you..."

As he looked into Wheeljack's bright, grateful optics, Ratchet felt all of his anger and frustration melt away. He'd always had a soft spot for the engineer, and he couldn't possibly stay mad when he looked at him like that. The medic cycled his vents in a weary sigh and looked away. "It's nothing, 'Jack. It's just what I do."

"It's not nothing. I'd probably be dead a hundred times over if it weren't for you. You're amazing. I bet the 'Cons woulda' wiped us out centuries ago if we didn't have you around to fix us up after every battle." Wheeljack shifted his grip on the medic's wrist and took the other mech's hand in both of his slightly smaller ones.

Ratchet felt his faceplates heating slightly in spite of himself. "Now you're just flattering me. You're welcome, okay?"

"It's not just flattery. I mean it," the inventor mumbled and looked down at the hand he held in his lap. He was suddenly fascinated with it. He smoothed his thumbs over the medic's palm, spreading the hand out so he could better examine it. It was so over-worked that the red paint had worn off of the tips of all of his fingers. Wheeljack found himself marveling over his friend's hands, wondering how many lives had been narrowly restored under them. They were very unique hands. He noticed that they seemed to have almost double the number of sensory receptors as his own hands. That made sense, and it explained how the medic could do such flawless repairs on extremely delicate systems. He felt his faceplates grow warm as a sudden idea occurred to him. He glanced up at his friend's face, but Ratchet wasn't looking at him. Instead the medic's attention was on the tools littered across the surface of his work table as he sorted them out to be put away with his free hand. The inventor gave in to his sudden impulse and retracted his mask as he brought Ratchet's hand toward his face.

When he saw Wheeljack become so absorbed with studying his hand, Ratchet had heaved an internal sigh. It wasn't uncommon for the mechanic to develop sudden fascinations with things and spend hours examining them in-depth if he was allowed to. He'd decided to humor his friend for the time being, so he turned to sort out his tools. He could make do with one hand for a bit, but after a few minutes he was becoming annoyed. "You know, I could do this a lot faster if you'd jus-WH-!?" he broke off when a spike of sensory input temporarily overwhelmed him, and his attention snapped immediately to the inventor still seated on his work table. He was shocked to find that the source of the sensation was Wheeljack sliding his glossa across his palm and all the way to the tip of his index finger. Once there, the inventor slid the entire digit into the warm cavern of his mouth. The visual alone was enough to cause the Ratchet's spark to surge, and coupled with the sensation, his knee joints became unstable and he had to lean against the table for support. "Wheeljack, wh-what are you-?"

The inventor made a valiant attempt to give his friend an innocent look, but failed miserably. His cheek-plates flushed guiltily, giving away his impure intent, so he gave up on playing innocent. He let the flashing of his ear-fins continue to indicate his speech, so that he could keep his mouth occupied with lavishing attention on the medic's hand. "I just thought- ... you work so hard and do so much for me, and for all of us... I thought maybe I could do something for you for a change?"

There was no question that the engineer was trying to arouse him on purpose, but Ratchet was shocked. It wasn't like Wheeljack to be so forward. If fact, the medic couldn't ever recall seeing his friend so much as flirt with another mech, and he was slightly concerned at the inventor's sudden show of interest. As tempted as he was to just give in to the pleasurable sensations and let the situation escalate, he did't want to risk taking advantage of his friend if he was experiencing some sort of glitch. "'Jack, wait... s-stop. Why are you doing this?"

At the medic's words, Wheeljack faltered in his ministrations, and then suddenly let go of his friend's hand, looking embarrassed and ashamed. "I-I'm sorry. That was really weird, wasn't it? I just thought- ... I-I'm no good at this... I thought maybe you might- no, I'm sorry. I'll stop-" He looked away, afraid to see Ratchet's reaction. The inventor felt completely mortified. He'd never tried to be seductive before, but apparently it wasn't something he could pull off. He wondered if it was his approach that had ruined it, or if Ratchet just didn't find him attractive. As the latter possibility crossed his mind, he subconsciously reached up to touch the scars on the lower half of his face.

Ratchet caught the gesture immediately, and instantly sought to reassure the engineer. "No, 'Jack, this has nothing to do with- don't even think that for a nano-second." The medic brought a hand up to his friend's face, turning it back to meet his gaze and gently tracing his thumb over a raised weld-scar which ran from the corner of the inventor's mouth to the crest of his cheek-plate. "I'm not upset or anything, I was just surprised is all. You never showed any interest before, in me or anyone else as far as I could tell, and I just wondered... Why now, all of a sudden?"

Wheeljack turned his head slightly, pressing and subtly nuzzling his face-plate into the warm comfort of his friend's palm. "I don't know. I've liked you for a while, and... I just thought that- you know, you've had a really rough day and I thought now would be a good time to... do something nice for you."

The medic sighed softly and pushed his remaining tools out of the way so he could take a seat next to the smaller mech. "'Jack... You don't have to resort to interfacing with me just because you want to do something nice for me. You don't owe me anything. I'm a medic, it's my job to fix everyone up."

"I know I don't HAVE to, but... I WANTED to, and... I thought now might be a good time, and you might like to..." The inventor found himself gripping his friend's forearm, not wanting him to withdraw. He hesitated a moment, then began to press soft, reverent kisses into Ratchet's palm, hoping he might still be able to salvage the situation. "I really do like you, Ratchet..."

"'Jack, I-" Ratchet felt his focus slipping away again as the warm derma-plating of the inventor's lips brushed across his sensitive hand, the sensation causing a small shudder to ripple through his systems.

The inventor cast a timid glance at his friend's face to gage the medic's reaction. Apparently he found the confirmation he sought, because his kisses became bolder. Shuttering his optics, Wheeljack pressed his parted lips to the captive palm, allowing his glossa to trace the seams in the time-worn armor, and he was rewarded with a low moan from the medic. Encouraged, he moved on to the fingers, intent on taking each one in turn into his mouth to thoroughly map out every joint and seam with his glossa.

Ratchet was nearly overcome by the sensations radiating from his captured hand. It felt almost as though the engineer were finding and stimulating each individual sensory receptor in his hand. He never would have guessed that Wheeljack of all mechs would have such a talented mouth. Already he was heated to the point that his cooling systems had kicked in, and his spark pulsed as he struggled to comprehend the reality of the situation. The sight of the inventor before him, optics dim and half-shuttered with his glossa sweeping along the length of his index finger, was the most lascivious thing he had ever seen, and he couldn't tear his optics away. A charge was building in him already, and he couldn't suppress a static-laced moan. "'Jack... oh Primus."

Wheeljack paused in his actions at the sound of his name. No one had ever uttered his name in quite that tone before, and his spark pulsed at the sound of it. Ratchet took advantage of the brief reprieve to grab the inventor, one hand sliding around to the small of the other mech's back and the other gently gripping one of the ear-fins. Suddenly pulling him close, the medic covered the smaller mech's mouth with his own and thrust his glossa past slightly parted lips, wanting to taste the engineer's devilishly talented mouth.

Ratchet's sudden onslaught drew a small sound of surprise from the inventor's vocalizer, which quickly melted into a groan of pleasure as he answered the medic's forceful kiss with equal passion. Wrapping his arms around the larger mech's neck, he slowly shifted his weight to push against the medic, encouraging him to gradually lean backward until his balance shifted and he had to lie back on the work table. Without breaking their kiss, Wheeljack followed him, moving to straddle Ratchet's hips.

Their chest-plates pressed flush against each other, and the engineer could feel the pull of the other mech's spark. Both of their sparks surged simultaneously, attempting to connect through the armor which still separated them. Wheeljack broke away, his mouth agape in a silent cry as Ratchet released another static-laden moan. Once the surge subsided, the inventor leaned the front of his helm against the medic's chevron as they both panted through open mouths, their systems struggling to dispel the excess heat. He let his hands wander over the larger mech's frame, seeking out gaps in the armor through which he might access sensitive wiring. "How long's it been since you interfaced, Ratch?"

The medic shuddered and pressed into the questing touch as the engineer worked a hand into a gap in his side and delicately rolled the wires he found there between his fingers. "Nnnngh- t-too long...what about you?" Ratchet slid one hand up along the smaller mech's back to caress the joints that connected the inventors small, angular wings to his back.

"Uu-uuunnnhh! N-not fair!" Wheeljack arched his back slightly. Of course the medic would know all of his most sensitive spots. He'd practically rebuilt him several times over. The smaller mech struggled to concentrate and answer the question as Ratchet continued to mercilessly stroke his wing-joints. "A-a long time- mmmm... s-some time before I, um- ... m-my face... before we c-came to Earth."

"Wow. It HAS been a long time." Ratchet smirked, knowing he was at an advantage. He probably knew Wheeljack's body better than Wheeljack himself. Of course, most of the engineer's hot-spots were obvious. Wing-joints were usually sensitive, and practically every mech had sensitive power cables in their necks, but the inventor also had one that wasn't so easy to guess. Abandoning the wing-joints, Ratchet ran his hands down the smaller mech's back, over his aft, and down the backs of his thighs until he reached the knee joints. Digging his fingers into the joints, the medic found the unusually sensitive bundles of wiring he knew were just inside the gaps in the armor.

A small whine of protest escaped the engineer when Rachet's touch left his wing-joints, but when capable fingers began teasing the wiring in his knee joints he shuddered and cried out softly in a mix of surprise and pleasure. "Wh-what the- Uuuhh... s-slag you, you're cheating!"

Ratchet chuckled deviously, pleased at the smaller mech's apparent ignorance of the hot-spots in his knee-joints. "What, you want me to stop?"

"Primus no! But-" Wheeljack broke off, almost frantically seeking other hot-spots on the larger mech's frame to reciprocate what he was feeling. He trailed his mouth along the medic's jaw and down to his neck, where he wrapped his glossa around the main power cable. At the same time his hands awkwardly fumbled over Ratchet's armor, attempting to exploit any gap they came across until they finally found sizable gaps at the medic's hip joints. Without hesitation, Wheeljack wriggled his fingers into the joints and delved into the wiring, gently pulling and twisting at anything he could reach.

The medic was shocked at how quickly the tables were turned. The inventor was clearly inexperienced, but he learned very quickly, and Ratchet suddenly found himself writhing under the other mech's touches. His previous intent of teasing Wheeljack's hot-spots until he begged for release was wiped from his processor. Red hands left the sensitive knee joints in favor of gripping the smaller mech's thighs to hold him in place as the medic arched and pressed against him, trying to increase the blissful contact. His spark surged again as his boxy chestplate began to split down the center, the panels separating just far enough to allow the brilliant blue light of his spark to escape, and he was surprised to find HIMSELF the one driven to beg. "Aaahh, Primus! 'Jack! Nnnnn... P-please-!"

Pulling back slightly, Wheeljack took in the other mech's reaction, an odd combination of awe and giddiness sweeping over him. The sight of Ratchet writhing in desire beneath him was more amazing than he'd ever imagined. The knowledge that HIS actions were what drove the hot tempered medic to twist and moan in ecstasy was almost as arousing as those skillful red hands on his frame had been. Then the vivid blue of Ratchet's spark-light caught his optics. That sight alone made him shudder, and a soft keen of longing left his vocalizer when he felt the pull of the other mech's spark on his even stronger than before, causing his own chestplates to begin to open in response.

Ratchet could feel the responding surge and pull of the inventor's spark, and his own crackled with excess energy in anticipation of a merge. Gazing up at the smaller mech, he was struck speechless by what he saw. Faceplates flushed and optics dimmed with lust, wing-tips quivering from the vibration of overcharged systems, spark-light and small arcs of electricity escaping his cracked chestplates, the combined light of their flickering sparks dancing across his features. Wheeljack was beautiful in his desire and the scars on his lower face did nothing to detract from that. The medic felt honored to be one of the few to see him in such a state. Reaching up, Ratchet carefully stroked the inside edges of the center seam in the other's chestplate, gently coaxing him to open further and fully reveal his spark. "'Jack... you're gorgeous..."

The inventor nearly cringed at the words. "Don't lie, Ratchet..." At that moment part of him wanted to pull away, stop all this, walk away, but the draw of the other mech's spark was too strong, and he couldn't bring himself to pull away from that gentle touch. Ratchet would see his feelings, and he might not reciprocate them, but he'd deal with that when this was over. He couldn't stop now. As his chestplate slowly separated in response to the touch, Wheeljack slid his hands up to copy the actions on the medic's chestplate, gently persuading it to open. Both fully exposed, faint arcs of electricity passed between them, their sparks' energies lightly playing over one another. The engineer couldn't bite back a needful moan. It was all he could do to keep from abruptly slamming their sparks together.

Ratchet was almost hurt by the smaller mech's reaction to his words, but he didn't have time to worry. It didn't matter if Wheeljack didn't believe him now, he'd see the truth in his spark once they merged. The inventor was holding himself back, though, and he didn't know how much longer he could stand it. "Please, 'Jack... I-I can't- Nnnnn... I need you, please!" He caught the smaller mech's shoulders in a firm but gentle grip. He could feel the remaining resistance draining out of the inventor, allowing him to gradually pull the other mech closer. Once their sparks were bare centimeters apart he paused, letting their energies clash and mingle for a moment of exquisite torture before finally bringing them into contact. A sob of pleasure ripped from his vocalizer as the inventor's spark-energy blended with his own, charging his entire sensory network. Snippets of thought and emotion which weren't his own flitted across his processor. Years of longing, wanting to be close, fearing rejection, all hinging on a final decision to strike up the courage and ACT, and the overwhelming thrill of finding that he was wanted in return. Reflexively, he clutched the smaller mech to him as their sparks attuned to one another, pulsing and surging as one.

Wheeljack's head tilted back as he cried out in euphoria. Ratchet's energy swept through him, permeating his sensory array and setting every node on edge. His processor was flooded with foreign information, and he could feel the medic's fiery emotion. Fierce need to protect the engineer from harm, fix him, keep him from hurting entirely. Feelings of calm and contentment in his presence turning to intense desire and genuine attraction. He suddenly saw himself through Ratchet's optics, face alight with passion, and he could sense the medic's raw lust and adoration. He clung to the larger mech and sobbed with joy at the revelation. A tender touch on his jaw tilted his head up slightly and a warm glossa brushed over a weld-scar that divided his lower lip before delving into his mouth in a frenzied kiss, which he returned eagerly. Suddenly their sparks seemed to explode in unison, and the electrical back-lash ripped through their systems. Both mechs released static-choked howls of ecstasy as they clung to one another, riding out the sensation before their systems fritzed-out and they collapsed together, completely offlined.

Ratchet was the first to recover, taking his time in bringing each of his systems back online. He felt heavy, like he had fallen into recharge after a day of battle without taking any energon before going offline. He could feel a weight pressed against him, and realized that someone was folded in his arms. Then it all came back to him, and it gave him more reason to take his time coming completely back online. He rubbed a hand against a broad surface, Wheeljack's back, he guessed, as he sighed in contentment. He hadn't felt this nice since...

"Ah..." The voice came from the entrance, sounding hesitant and awkward. Ratchet onlined his optics with a start and turned his head to see Ironhide standing framed in the open doorway to the med bay and looking a bit embarrassed. Ratchet noticed the minor dents on both arms and scrapes around his cod piece. Ratchet opened his mouth to speak, but made no noise. They looked at each other for a few moments before Ironhide finally broke the silence. "I'll, ah... I'll come back later." He glanced at Wheeljack briefly before turning and walking down the hallway, leaving the automatic door to slide shut quietly. Ratchet cycled air through his vents, relieved that he wouldn't have to wake up Wheeljack in such a circumstance. He silently made a note to thank Ironhide later for his consideration.

Down the hall, Ironhide turned a corner to see Optimus Prime heading his way. He approached him as Optimus paused in his steps and gave him a questioning look. "There's nothin' for it," Ironhide said with a shrug and wave of his hands. "He... he's busy. It's best to give 'im a little time before goin' back." He felt rather sheepish with his words, reluctant to fully explain. He found himself eying warped metal on his leader's arms that mirrored his own damage. His gaze wandered down Prime's body, and he shifted his weight awkwardly.

Optimus sighed. "Well.. we wouldn't want the others to see us like this," he spoke thoughtfully. He held out a hand in a welcoming gesture. "Let's take our energon in my quarters, then. You can try Ratchet again afterward."

Ironhide stared at Optimus for a moment, considering the offer. He decided that while the dents on his arms didn't bother him, he'd rather not have anyone ask him about the scrapes lower on his body. He nodded and smiled softly to Optimus, and they walked down the hallway together in companionable silence, away from the med bay.

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There it is.

Hope it was okay. o_o; Feedback/constructive criticism appreciated.


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